


Sweet Boys are Blind About Themselves

by AbbeyTheWeeb



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Best Friends, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, You Decide, lovers??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 13:50:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20995847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbbeyTheWeeb/pseuds/AbbeyTheWeeb
Summary: It was opening day. Brock was goofing off with teammates, not realizing Andrew stomping off to the clubhouse.





	Sweet Boys are Blind About Themselves

Brock knew something was up. Andrew was 0-12 and each and every at bat he seemed to get more sluggish. 

“C’mon Benny!” Mitch clapped his hands. “Let’s do this!” 

Strike.

Please, let him have this, Brock muttered in his head.

Strike.

Brock drew out a long breath, his anxiety crawling in his stomach. 

Popup. 

“He always sucks at those fucking pitches now.” Steve sighed as he passed Brock. 

“He has a better batting average than you, asshole.” Brock whispered to himself. “0.11 something.”

Andrew tosses his back to the bat-boy and then tossed his hat to the ground, his face grunting. Brock jogged to his best friend, seeing if he was okay. Andrew looked at him with cold-blooded eyes.

“Listen, Benny-”

“I don’t really want to talk right now, Brock.” the outfielder hissed dismissively. “Tell the others to leave me alone.” Brock watched with his eyes as Andrew went to the dugout and into the clubhouse, not even looking at his teammates. The only people that looked worried was Cora and Michael.

“Should we help him?” the rookie asked Brock, his face filled with worry. “He looked, he looked like he-”

“He’ll be fine.” Cora shrugged. Then he turned to the players. “C'mon boys, lets get changed.”

“Wait, Cora. I want to check on Benny. I don’t want anyone there, is that okay?” Cora shrugged to Brock’s question, and nodded. 

“Can I got too?” Michael requested, his eyes booming with plea. 

“I think it’s best if I go there down by myself, but thanks for asking.” Brock said, his hand patting against the rookie’s back. Michael dipped his head respectfully and the older smiled. Then he went down to the clubhouse and checked Andrew’s locker. His bag wasn’t there but his water was still there. 

“Benny, you still here?”

Then he heard a small wail from the bathroom and he decided to follow it. “Benny, you in there?”

“Brock, why the hell are you here?” Andrew drew out. This was not like him. This wasn’t the sweet, happy boy that Brock knew.

“Benny, open up.” Brock knocked on the stall door. “Please come out Benny, sure you’ve been struggling, but we all struggle. You wanna watch a movie or something, Your pick.”

Them the sound of a metal object fell on the floor, and the older looked down to see if he could see it. It was silver and it was sharp, something Brock never even wanted his worst enemy to have.

“Andrew, is that a fucking razor?” Brock snarled, fear and anger flowing in his head. “You better open up, I want to see what you’re doing in there, Andrew.”

Brock bit his knuckles hard since his fear was crawling up his back like a spider. And then the stall door opened, and Andrew’s back was backed up against the wall.

His eyes were pouring out tears and his wrists were pouring out blood from open cuts. His eyes looked up to Brock, and he started shaking like a scared puppy. 

“Benny, you cut?” Brock approached him slowly, taking away the razor and putting it aside. Tears brisked his eyes as he looked at his best friend, who didn’t make eye contact. 

“Sometimes.” he let out in a cold shiver.

“C’mere.” Brock whispered. He put his palm on the back of Andrew’s head, and guided it to his chest. Andrew slumped onto it and his eyes were dripping more than his cuts. 

“Why do you do this, Benny? You didn’t let down the team.”

Andrew didn’t answer and continued his sobs. This broke Brock. His best friend, who was sweet, caring, and loving man was actually a hurt, depressed one. “Benny, Benny, calm down.”

“I can’t, I can’t fucking,” Andrew screamed, and Brock has tears come to his eyes.

“Hold on, Andrew.” The blonde went up, snatching the razor and throwing it in the trash, and locked the bathroom door. He looked at the poor man who had his wristbands on the floor to show his cuts. “When did you start doing it?” Brock asked calmly, hoping the Andrew won’t lash out in anxiety again. 

Luckily he did not.

“They started when I was eighteen.” 

Brock came down to the floor again and cupped his hands on his best friend’s cheeks. “You’ve been doing this, for six years?”

Andrew, who seemed to be calming down from his close-by best friend, looked at his blue eyes. “Can, can you hug me again?”

Brock nodded. “Will you answer me then?” When Andrew nodded, and the older let him slump on his chest.

“It’s been now and then. There and there, all that stuff.” 

“Why do you do it, Benny?” Brock started rubbing his friends back. “Are you disappointed in yourself?”

“Yeah.” 

“When was the last time before this?” 

There was a pause. A long fact. Brock looked down, his tears falling on Andrew’s cheeks. Andrew looked up, and Brock saw his broken expression, his wet cheeks, his red eyes, and his messy hair. 

“I, I cut myself during the beginning of the season. I don't know what days, wait. I did some cuts on opening day-”

Brock felt his whole body tense. “Where did you do it. Where did you fucking do it?”

“On my arm.”

“No, no.” Brocks tears were coming down, almost like Andrew’s. “What place, what place did you do it?”

“In the showers.”

Brock went silent. Then he spoke. “After the game?”

“Remember when I threw down my bat and was very angry? I went to the showers right after that.”

Brock remembered that game. He was there, hanging out with J.D. and Mookie, being the silly goof off he was. He remembered Andrew, who was pretty angry at the game, but he passed it off. He actually thought he was going to the bathroom to go or to touch himself, anything a person does in a bathroom, but one of those things, cutting. Cutting was the thing that Brock didn’t even think of at all. 

Andrew was cutting while everyone was watching the game, and Brock was goofing off. 

“Holy shit.” Brock whimpered in response. “Benny, I’m so fucking sorry. Why didn’t you tell me. Why?” 

“I don’t want to look weak.” Andrew muttered. “Why would I want people to know that I have an unhealthy coping mechanism. Don’t apologize.”

“Benny, Andrew…” Brock whimpered. He gently pushed Andrew off of him and got toilet paper from the roller, and started drying Andrew’s cuts. Some of them were deep. 

“Why did you cut in the beginning of the season?” 

“I thought that I did terrible.” Andrew sniffled. “I thought that I was a burden on the team, that kept making us lose.”

“Andrew Benintendi, look at me.”

Andrew looked at Brock, his eyes starting to dry. However. Brock still heard his whimpers. Brock went on. “You shouldn’t have the whole game on your shoulders. You aren’t the pitcher, or catcher, and you are you. Don’t fucking blame yourself for everything. If you do, your going to do more of this, and I know those deep cuts on your arm will be too deep someday. I don’t want to live through a day with that, you dying and being sent to the grave. People love you Benny, and I do know they don’t want you to live through this.

“Let’s go home, Benny.” Brock smiled, giving a quick friendly kiss one of Andrew’s cuts, and then put his wristbands to cover them. “I’m gonna tell Cora though.”

Before Andrew could protest, Brock gave him a stern look. “I think Cora needs to know how all of his players are feeling, Benny.” With that response, Andrew nodded.

Andrew was going to heal now, and Brock was sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> right now i am working on the other story that is not finished, and its pretty hard working on it again. this is something I wrote in late May and inspired me to do the other one. hope you enjoyed


End file.
